PsychoEd 2: 6
by 42 Zombies
Summary: It's been 6 months since the events that changed Peach Creek. Now, a new threat is looming-- a group of super-powered terrorists are set to force their twisted ideals onto the world. Can Edd unravel the web even when his best friend is ensnared in it?
1. Chapter 1

**New Year**

_I've tried this before, and failed. My writer's block is like some crippling disease that I haven't had the nerve to tackle until now. But, you know what? I feel confident. I'm gonna take this little sequel head-on._

_Greetings, and welcome to _PsychoEd 2: 6. _If you've read my first story, you should have no problems here. If not, I'll try to make it as accessible as possible, but I highly suggest you at least try and get a summary from someone._

_I do not own Psychonauts, or Ed, Edd, and Eddy. If I owned Psychonauts, I'd be a lot more popular. Or not. You know how fickle the consumer is._

_

* * *

_

"… And there were no survivors. In lighter news, FBI most-wanted criminal Diego Malheur was recently spotted making his way up north. The head of the FBI has been quoted as saying, 'If we're lucky, he'll go to Canada and it'll be their problem'. Unfortunately, it seems to be much more likely that he is on his way to a Northern State such as—"

"Damn news." Sighing under his breath, Diego Malheur changed the channel to an Oldies station. "Why can't people just leave me alone? I just killed some guys."

Diego was getting near his destination—some small town called Peach Creek. He had never heard of it before now, so why would anybody else? It would be the last place anyone would look. He could grow a bear, shave his head, maybe even see wear an eye-patch. He wouldn't be able to kill for a few years, but he'd be in the clear.

'WELCOME TO PEACH CREEK!' read the billboard as Diego approached it. Perfect. Diego pulled up behind the brightly-lit sign and parked his stolen car. Nobody knew that he was the one who stole it, but he had to be careful at this point.

It would be a long walk into town. Diego pulled his bag out of the convertible's trunk and started to make his way.

He could probably stay in a motel until his beard grew in. He'd brought a wig and some make-up so nobody would recognize him from the news. It was the perfect plan, despite all of its horrible flaws.

Nobody would recognize him. He could start a news life. He'd kill again.

* * *

EDDY GROANED AS his clock rung. It was time to get up. Christmas break was over—and it was the worst Christmas ever; the clothes he'd gotten this year seemed to be tailored specifically for homosexuals Meanwhile, Edd had gotten a new computer and Ed received almost a hundred movies.

The clock was still ringing. Wasn't there something Eddy was supposed to do about that?

It took five more minutes for him to turn it off. He sat up and yawned, as tired as something that gets tired when it does stuff. That wasn't a good simile. Anyways, it took him more time to shower, dress, and eat. By the time he was ready, it was already an hour after he'd woken up.

"Damn… I'm gonna be late."

Eddy said that. He wasn't too worried. He had been tardy a million times before now. As he calmly walked out of the back-door in his room and into the backyard, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The brown, January grass was dyed red. Lying in front of Eddy was a body. A blood-stained blanket covered the corpse, but it was indisputably a man. Eddy almost gagged as soon as he realized what he was seeing. Then, seeing no other option, he decided to do the most logical thing…

… Charge admission.

* * *

EDD LOOKED around. He vaguely recognized where he was. It was a huge, black room—perfectly clean, except for a corner in front of him filled with dirty laundry. A single light-bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting a spotlight on Double D.

"Ah, Eddward. I'm sorry to intrude on you like this, but I felt it was the best way to check up on you."

The German accent sounded familiar. Without even looking around, Edd knew who it was, even if he'd never actually spoken with him. "Sasha Nein?" He asked calmly.

"Yes. We are currently in a recurring dream of yours." Sasha's voice explained. "I thought it best to check up on you to see how you are doing. It's been a few months since the camp, after all."

The camp… Whispering Rock…

Double D smiled politely as he stood perfectly still. "It's hard to believe that it wasn't so long ago. It's probably only been six months since we beat the meteor."

"Yes. Let's see… last year, you and several other children in your neighborhood began to develop your psychic abilities. Around the same time, Stefan Galochio had gone insane and was going around draining people's brains. You and several other psychics were able to defeat him and the alien parasite that had taken over his mind."

"Um… I was there, Mr. Nein." Edd pointed out calmly. "As I said, it wasn't that long ago. Why tell me all of that?"

"Because you'll need to put it on your résumé." The voice chuckled lightly. Double D looked around in confusion to see what was so funny but the light-bulb was beginning to flicker.

"Eddward, it's time for _you to_ **"Wake up!"**

Edd gasped in shock as he sat up. Sasha's voice had trailed off and was replaced by another in the waking world. Double D stared for a second before he realized who it was—Ed. The tallest of the group had somehow gotten into Edd's house and, with the same, stupid grin on his face, was now standing next to Double D's bed.

"Time for school, Double D! Sleepy-heads don't get their jerky!" The face was as oblivious as always. Still, it was a little comforting.

"Alright, Ed. I'll go get ready. You wait outside," Double D ordered. Ed nodded but didn't go anywhere. After a few minutes, Double D pulled out the water-gun he had started to keep next to his nightstand and shot Ed out of his room.

Edd dressed in the clothes he had scheduled for the day and stared in the mirror. It had been a few months since he had thought about the Psychonaut business—the government organization of psychics and their fantastic adventures. But Sasha suddenly turning up reminded Edd of what had happened last summer.

He still had the flashbacks, of course. But they were just brief glimpses into unimportant parts of the past. He hardly even used his unique talents anymore.

Feeling a bit curious, Double D stared intently at a DNA model he had made for school. Almost as if by magic, the model lifted itself off the desk and then sat itself back down. Edd smiled and picked up his bag.

Ed was waiting outside of Double D's house, just like Edd had told him to. "Hello! Have you seen Double D?" He asked goofily. "He told me to wait for him."

"Ed, you should really get yourself checked out." Edd sighed as the two began walking. He looked at his watch and groaned. His dream had made him late for school. He was never late—occasionally absent, but never late. He would have to hurry to school.

As he and Ed began to walk, Double D looked at Ed calmly. "Um… Ed… do you ever think about—"

"Yes!"

"Um… okay…" Edd didn't see what the point was. He wanted to talk to someone about the Psychonauts. Right now, Ed was his only option, and he wasn't exactly a conversationalist. Regardless, Edd tried again:

"Ed, do you remember the brain-draining incident last year?" He asked quietly. Ed stopped walking and looked at Double D seriously. "Double D… uh… well, sometimes I think about that stuff. Like, how Jonny found his dad and how Wilfred started talking. But I try not to think too much."

Edd stared at his friend in shock. "Ed, was that you?" He gasped. "Those sentences actually followed a linear pattern!"

"Huh? Yes! We have no bananas!"

There was an awkward silence between the two. After a few minutes, Double D decided that Ed's temporary sanity must have been a fluke and decided to drop it. The two continued walking for a while when they stopped.

Police cars were parked in front of Eddy's house. From where Edd was standing, he could see that yellow tape was wrapped around the back-yard. Police officers and FBI agents were going in and out of the building, chatting to each other over whatever had happened.

"Is the circus in town?" Ed surveyed the scene without a clue. Double D meanwhile, started to walk towards Eddy's house. He had no idea what he was doing; it was as if his feet were moving themselves. In a minute, he was there.

"This is preposterous… I'm going to be late for school." Double D whispered to himself. He stared at the yellow-tape for a few seconds before an officer noticed him.

"Hey! No civilians allowed!" He ordered quickly. "We've got enough hassle as it is, sweetie."

Double D only pondered the officer's calling him 'sweetie' for a second. "I'm friends with the boy who lives in this house." He explained calmly and coolly. "Has there been any trouble?"

The officer sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, we were told by the chief to keep things quiet, but considering whom it was, this'll be out in no time." after looking around to see if anyone was listening, the cop began to whisper.

"We found a body in the backyard." He explained it in an ominous whisper that said even he was concerned. "Normally, that would be bad enough—but the guy who was killed was a killer himself!

"There's been this killer going around—a guy named Diego Malheur or something. Anyways, the FBI just identified him a week ago but he ran away before they could arrest him. Normally, you'd have to wait for someone to ID him before you could make your move again. Well… we just found his body in your friend's back yard."

Double D had heard reports on the news about a serial killer in Virginia. He'd killed ten people and dumped their bodies in the Potomac River. The thought that his corpse would wind up in Peach Creek was…

Actually, not too surprising, considering everything that had happened since last year. At least this time there were no giant, singing plants.

"Look, just keep quiet about this and, if anyone asks, you didn't hear it from me." The officer's words were heavy with worry. He probably had noticed how things were turning for Peach Creek, too…

As the officer went back to the crime scene, Double D looked around. Ed had gone off… somewhere. Edd would probably have to go look for him.

The Peach Creek genius set off to find his friend when a warm buzzing went through his temples. Looking back at the murder scene, Edd saw one car that didn't fit in—a black Volvo without any license plates. He stared at it for just a second when something like a voice went through his head…

_"The forehead's been cut open. Just like on that show I like… hmm… why does nobody else at work watch that show? It's a good show."_

Double D stepped towards the crime scene. The voice seemed to get a little clearer. It was a man, but Edd couldn't tell anything else about him.

_"Not picking anything up. Why did Truman even send me? Hmm… that officer was kind of cute. But… he's a guy. And I'm a guy… Damn it, Wyatt, keep your shit together! God! Hey, wait… is someone reading my mind?"_

Edd gasped in shock as he quickly ran towards the black Volvo. He ducked behind it just in time to see a 20-something-year-old man in a trench-coat and sunglasses step out of Eddy's house.

The trench-coat absolutely settled it: the man was a Psychonaut. Who else but a Psychonaut would wear a trench-coat to a murder scene? To make things more ridiculous, the coat's tail flowed down to his knees and moved in the wind as if it were alive. Double D watched the man carefully from what was most-likely his car.

_"The file said that there were psychics here. It was probably just one of them. Huh… my elbow's tingling… that can only mean… somebody's touching my car!"_

Double D looked down to see that as he was hiding he had put his hand up against the car's chassis. Before he could do anything, a powerful force yanked him in the air and pulled him towards the Psychonaut. Behind the sunglasses, his face was a picture of pure rage.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING TO MY CAR?!" He yelled angrily. Before Double D could answer, he felt a tingling in the back of his skull. "Don't bother answering—I'll find out soon enough… Edd, is it?"

Edd watched helplessly as the Psychonaut stared at him, reading his deepest thoughts. In just a few seconds, he was done. "Damn. That was easy. You must talk a lot. It's always easier with blabber-mouths."

The telekinetic force suspending Edd in the air vanished and the sock-head fell a foot to the ground. His chin took the brunt of the impact. It felt like there was something in his mouth, too… tasted like blood. He must have chipped a tooth when he hit his chin.

"Razputin told me about you." The Psychonaut held out a hand to help Edd up. Seeing the friendly gesture, Edd accepted it and calmly dusted himself out.

"Sorry for roughing you up. A man's gotta take pride in his car." The Psychonaut chuckled sheepishly and then reached into his pocket. Quickly, he produced a plastic card with his picture and name on it. "I'm Wyatt; Wyatt Civil. You can just call me Wyatt."

Edd returned the introduction with a small smile. He was too anxious about any injuries to his mouth.

"You know whoever lives here, right? He's at school by now, so don't worry about anything." Wyatt looked at Eddy's house through his mirrored sunglasses, his face showing the ideas running through his head. "Whoever killed Mr. Malheur did it without waking anyone up. A gun wasn't used, but we can't be sure of anything until the police make an autopsy…"

Not a word that Wyatt was saying connected with Double D. The boy in the ski-cap was too distracted turning over a complex dilemma in his head. On one hand, he could spit the blood out onto the sidewalk, but that could be considered rude. On the other hand, he could swallow the gunk; but the thought of that was too disgusting for him to consider. He quickly went back to Wyatt's one-sided conversation.

"… This, of course, means that it couldn't have been a Yeti." He concluded with a confident nod and looked back at Edd. Chuckling at the boy's apparent-attentiveness, he grinned and said, "Good to see I don't bore everyone!"

Wyatt reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a red-and-white peppermint. He unwrapped and discarded the clear cellophane on Eddy's lawn and popped the candy into his mouth before giving Edd a long, hard look. "I read your file," he said. "You're good.

"You saved the entire world from a brain-sucking alien almost single-handed. That's not bad. So, how would you like to help out with this case?"

Edd's mouth dropped open in pure shock, spilling a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "I'm not even a Psychonaut." He pointed out hesitantly, stumbling on his words. "I-I haven't even done anything since Summer Camp."

Wyatt shrugged as he shifted the hard-candy around in his mouth. "Hmm. Well, Truman's kid isn't a Psychonaut either, but he still sends her on missions." He said in-between licks at the candy. "Look, it's not my decision; but I'm going to force you to help."

Before Edd could point out the bizarre contradiction, his vision began to fade. He felt a jolt of pain as he fell to the ground, and then felt his eyelids drop. He was completely aware of whatever was happening; and he was just as aware of being picked up and tossed in a car…

* * *

THE MAN RAN through the construction-site of Peach Creek Estates as quickly as he could. This was just ridiculous; last year he'd had his brain drained by an alien, and now someone was chasing him! It was days like these that made him miss his days working for Dr. Kevorkian.

He could hear their footsteps close behind him. They were small and nimble, and spent little time on the ground. The man had seen glimpses of whoever was chasing him, but so far he had no idea who it was.

Then, suddenly, there was silence. The footsteps chasing the man had stopped. The man was, however, smart enough to keep running. He was not strong enough, however, to withstand a PSI Blast to the legs.

He fell in a motion similar to that of a hogtied cow—awkwardly. Desperately, he tried to crawl his way to an escape only for his pursuer to flip him over. It was now that the man saw who it was.

The boy was short, and he stood silhouetted against the sun like some majestic hero. His head was fairly large and was covered with an aviator's cap and goggles. Despite the shadows covering him, his eyes were easy to make out. They squinted at the man in an intimidating fashion and filled the man with a stuttering terror.

"W-Who a-ar-r-r-are you?" The man was barely able to blurt out. The figure standing over him narrowed his eyes even more and whispered harshly:

"My name… is Raz."

* * *

Next Time: In Which Eddward Travels to Psychonaut HQ and Eddy Receives a Peculiar Guest


	2. In Which A Trope is Described

**In Which Eddward Travels to Psychonaut HQ and **

**Eddy Receives a Peculiar Guest**

_Author's Notes: Because of school, I can only write for this thing on the weekend. But summer's coming up, and my schedule is so open it hurts!_

_

* * *

_

"HELLLLLLLOOOOOOO, my brothers and sisters! This is your DJ and Media Phenom Cinco de Mayo, here to give you the word on all of our kindred spirits. You all ready? Here's the news, for all you cats out there who're trying to make a killing!"

"Damn DJ." Wyatt muttered as he turned the volume down on the radio. He had driven to the designated meeting place, and hadn't been surprised in the least to see that Razputin Aquatos was on time. Wyatt opened up the door to the front-passenger seat and listened to the radio while the 11-year-old got in.

_"So, I hear from my man Do Not Disturb that the movie biography of Nietzsche completely butchered the guy. The thing looks like total Oscar bait, children, and we all know how much Cinco de Mayo hates award shows. In other news, the Georgia Devil Butcher Killer Strangler—overkill on the name, huh?—chopped off some guy's hand down in (where else?) Georgia! The guy apparently asked him for a _hand_."_

Wyatt chuckled as a recording of a crowd booing played immediately after the horrible pun. Raz stared at the radio for a few seconds before Wyatt began driving again. "Are you listening to what I think you're listening to?"

Wyatt would never admit it, but he didn't like the kid. At least, not the way he was acting now. Razputin had undertaken a sudden change in personality over the last two months. His personality had become much less cheery and he barely smiled. In Wyatt's opinion, you needed to take joy in your work as a Psychonaut.

_"… On a sadder note, I've just gotten words that one of our boys fighting the good fight lost last night. You all remember Diego Malheur—that happy-go-lucky factory worker from Virginia? This morning, he was found dead in a small town up north called 'Peach Creek'…"_

"Did you find anything out?" Wyatt asked, sucking on a peppermint candy all the while. The loud slurping noises he made were starting to drown out the radio DJ. Raz, his face twisted in a scowl from the obnoxious sounds, reported his findings.

"I tracked down a man who saw something suspicious last night," Raz explained in his most calculating tone. "According to him, he saw the deceased—one Diego Malheur—running from something."

Wyatt gave one of his loudest slurps as he took a sharp right turn in the road. It was 47 miles to the airport where the plane was waiting. Without taking his eyes off of the road, he asked the young Psychonaut, "Did this guy see what Diego was running from?"

As the two approached a large sign that colorfully read, 'NOW LEAVING PEACH CREEK! Spend more money next time, you jerks!' Raz shook his head. "Technically, no," he said. "But he could _feel_ it."

Wyatt chuckled half-mockingly. "That's a nice way to say it. Was the guy a psychic?"

"Yeah, actually," Raz answered after a particularly confusing segment on the radio station. "More than that, he was the first guy who got his brain drained last year."

"I wasn't assigned to that case; I never read the file." Wyatt said curtly. "So, what was this guy sensing, a ghost; an alien; the living personification of arson? If it was the last one, I really hate that guy…"

Raz was about to give an answer when a pounding noise rang throughout the car. Wyatt calmly took a hand off of the wheel and put two fingers to his head. Just as suddenly as the banging had started, it died out.

"I've got rats in my trunk," Wyatt explained to the skeptical Razputin. "Who the hell do you think you are? I didn't kidnap anyone. One of these days, Raz… straight to the moon!"

_"… anyways, you take the string and _the Honeymooners_ DVD, and he won't be able to move his arms ever again. I just thought that was interesting…_

* * *

SAN FRANCISCO:

"… Anyways, onto some more news," the DJ declared in his happy, recognizable voice. "One of our boys fighting the good fight just got a freaking _art deal_. Can you believe that?! Up in glorious New York, New York, Mr. Black & White's gotten his first-ever commission to make a painting for the grand opening of a swanky new office building. Not bad, eh?

"Okay, now, in memorial for Diego Malheur, AKA the Virginia Vampire, we're gonna be playing some of his favorite songs all day. So, sit back and enjoy _Axe Murderer Song._"

_Why do lovers park down deserted lanes  
Near haunted houses or homes for the insane  
Like the deformed son who was locked in a shed  
Later escaped when he chopped off their heads…_

The DJ pushed a button on the custom hardware that sat on the desk in front of him. The next three songs would be broadcast without him having to do anything. With a mighty yawn, the twenty-something-year-old man pulled off the bizarre, complicated helmet balanced on his head and got out of his chair.

The 'radio station' was actually the man's bedroom in his childhood house in San Francisco. His parents didn't live there anymore—they were dead. The money the man had gotten in the inheritance was enough to buy their house _and_ the equipment he needed to broadcast the good fight.

His name was Drew, good reader. Oh! And don't tell anyone, but _he_ was Cinco de Mayo! That's right! Cinco de Mayo was him! And they were Drew! Remember that, dear reader, or, on the 5th of May, Cinco de Mayo will come to your house and destroy you!

Drew and Cinco de Mayo and Drew and both of them quickly grabbed the bizarre helmet and put it on all of their heads—even though they only had one. Like a slap in the face, Cinco de Mayo calmed himself down. His thoughts got too scattered without the helmet on.

The helmet was heavy and it pinched Cinco de Mayo's skull, but it was worth it to make him forget. The outside was some sort of iron and lead compound with zinc plates scattered around seemingly at random. Small antenna jutted from the plates. The inside was lined with a thin layer of some purple metal—Cinco de Mayo had forgotten its name, but he knew it helped him somehow.

The song was over—_My Generation_, by the Who, came to life and sang over the airwaves. There was no tower outside of Drew's (No! Cinco de Mayo! He had to remember to stop calling himself that) home. Everything was broadcast using the helmet.

Cinco de Mayo was special. His brain could send out messages to anybody he wanted, and nobody else could hear them. He first realized he could do this when he was a boy in summer camp; he had to be isolated from the other campers for their own protection.

But he was better now; with the right technology, Cinco de Mayo could keep his thoughts straight and send them wherever he wanted. He was sending them through the radio—or, at least, what his listeners perceived as the radio. It was all in their heads. He sought them out and made them think they could hear him.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! The door was pounded as the third song began to play. Cinco de Mayo stepped out of his room and looked down stairs at the front door. Nobody ever came to this house. Not even mailmen. It just didn't stand out.

Cautiously, Cinco de Mayo walked downstairs and approached the door. Whoever it was knocked again, patiently. Cinco de Mayo cracked open the door and saw somebody looking in at him.

"Ah, hello. Are you Drew Haav?"

Cinco de Mayo smiled at the old name. "Yes," he answered, chuckling on the inside. "Can I help you?"

The person chuckled. It was a man—he had a deep voice and what sounded like a Chinese accent. "Well, Drew, I'm here to kill you. Nothing personal."

It was surreal, as if in a nightmare. Before Cinco de Mayo, or Drew, or whoever he was could do anything, a gun was pointing through the crack in the door right at his head. The DJ stuttered, but all he could do was strain his ears and barely make out the song that was playing.

_Look at me  
I'm a mess  
A mess of everything  
That I never wanted to be_

_**BANG!**_

* * *

"WHAT?!" Eddy yelled angrily. A detective was standing in front of him, blocking him from entering his own house. With a growl reminiscent of a Chihuahua or maybe a gopher, the short-fuse nearly attacked his obstacle.

"Easy! This is a crime scene!" The detective exclaimed as he saw Eddy made a lunge for his leg. "We just found some blood-stains in the house—you'll have to find somewhere else to stay."

"That's not the point!" Eddy declared. He sighed and calmed down, though, giving up. "I was gonna charge the kids to see a dead body…" A sick look crossed the detective's face.

"Hmm. While that's certainly… creative, I'm afraid that wouldn't be allowed." He mused. "Now, could you please move along? We've had enough set-backs today as it is? The Psychonaut stole most of the evidence…"

By this point, Eddy was already walking away. At present, he was focused on only two thoughts—both of them selfish, as always. Number one, he had no place to stay; and, perhaps less important, he wasn't able to make any money off of a dead body in his backyard. That was injustice to the highest degree.

"Hey… kid, look over here…"

The voice was little more than a whisper, but Eddy heard it fine. Turning his eyes toward Edd's house (And not stopping to wonder why his best friend hadn't been at school that day), Eddy saw perhaps the most demented-looking old man imaginable.

His grey beard went down to his chest and was made up of wild curls with bits of leaves stuck in them. His hair was just as much a mess, perhaps more so—Eddy could swear he saw something _moving_ in it. What he was wearing could barely be called clothes—more like rags a dog had torn apart and then pissed on.

Most striking, however, were the eyes. The one on the left was normal-sized, or at least what people accept as normal. The right one, however, was so large it seemed to cause a deformity in the old man's skull. The pupil and iris in the eye were just as large, which made the old man look altogether eerie. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were revealed to be as crooked as a picket fence that had fallen into disrepair.

"Kid… follow me… I needs to talk to you and your yellow shirt…"

The old man darted away, leaving Eddy to stare on in confusion. Now, for all of the underage readers out there, it normally isn't wise to follow a strange adult. However, if the adult looks crazy and has a weird eye, it's perfectly fine. Taking this advice to heart, Eddy followed after the most-likely-a-hobo.

After a few minutes of walking in the direction he guessed the old man had gone in, he found himself in the woods. A flickering, orange light was barely visible ahead. Walking up to it, Eddy found himself in the middle of a ramshackle campsite, with a fire and various furnishings made of scrap from the junkyard.

"You're kinda stupid to follow an adult you don't know… but this was smart…" the old man grabbed Eddy's shoulder and spun him around. Right away, Eddy found himself staring blankly into the man's bulbous eye. Ordinarily, the pipsqueak would have said something rude or angry—the eye, however, freaked him out too much.

"I know what you're looking at," the old man grumbled sadly. "It's my hair, ain't it? I haven't had a haircut since November, '99. No point, huh? The world was going to end! And it _did!_ I was right! Showed those jerks at work, didn't I?"

To anyone with one-and-a-half brain cells to rub together, it was easy to tell what the man was talking about. Eddy, however, didn't see the point in using brain cells, and simply stuttered nervously. "A-are you going to rape me?"

The man grumbled angrily. "God, no, you little sicko! I'd sue you, if the world hadn't ended," he yelled. "No. I'm here to warn you. About happenings; goings-on, if you catch my drift. No? Yeah?" He blinked and Eddy noticed, nauseated, that the old man's right eye blinked much slower than the other one and made a loud 'squish' noise when it closed.

"Hmm. I can see you're speechless. My hair ain't _that_ bad." The man pointed out. "Listen closely, kid, because I'm only gonna say this once. You've gotta save that girl. Before _they_ get her. They've already killed two people, and if they kill anymore we're all **D**_**OO**_**MED**! Except for me… because, you know, the world ended. Y2K, you know? You, however, will die. Slowly and without mercy."

Eddy's normal-sized eyes twitched traumatically. "What the hell are you talking about?!" He asked, finally gaining control of the situation. "You ask me to follow you and then you start telling me to save a girl! Tell Edd! He's psychic!"

The old man took a step back out of shock. "Don't talk so loud! The roaches will hear you," he ordered. "They're the only thing that survived after—"

"Screw _that_!" Eddy screeched, forcing the old man back another step. "What the hell's wrong with you?! It's a little while after 2000—I'm pretty sure the world hasn't ended!"

"I—I think," The old man gasped fearfully, "I-I think that… OH GOD! THE TV IS WALKING! THE TV IS WALKING! MEN IN HAWAIIAN SHIRTS! SCREW YOU GUYS, I'M GOING HOME! LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU, THERE'S AN OXYGEN!"

Before Eddy could turn and look at the oxygen, the old man turned and frantically ran away. Eddy could barely hear him screaming something back to him…

"Before you go on the dangerous path, boy, consider this… I AM ONLY 38!"

* * *

THERE WAS darkness all around Edd. Memories of the morning came flooding back along with a mind-numbing migraine. He tried to stand up, but found he was in some cramped space. Feeling around, he was able to surmise that it was the trunk of a car…

Had Wyatt kidnapped him? There would be time to find an answer later—right now, Edd had to find a way out. He spent a minute pounding on the ceiling of his tiny prison and then began to scream. Apparently, the latter did the job, because the trunk was soon opened by a fairly familiar figure.

"… Double D? What the hell are you doing in Wyatt's car?"

Razputin Aquatos pulled Double D out of the trunk and stared at him curiously. It had been a few months since the two had seen each other—Raz, after all, had been a key player in defeating the meteor last year and had introduced Edd into the world of Psychonauts.

"Wyatt isn't going to like that I touched his car…" Raz mumbled quietly. "He barely likes it when _he_ touches his car. Dude's got some problems."

"I noticed," said Edd, after stretching a few neck muscles. "Is he an actual Psychonaut? I'd like to see his credentials! He knocked me unconscious and threw me in there!"

Raz looked at the trunk of the car and then at Edd. Then, suddenly, the young Psychonaut burst out laughing. "Oh, don't worry," he assured pleasantly. "I've worked with Wyatt before. The guy's a kleptomaniac. Like, a _big_ kleptomaniac."

"That makes it okay that he kidnapped me?!" Double D, quite justifiably, shouted.

Raz didn't seem to notice, and simply laughed. "The Psychonauts found him when he tried to steal the Smithsonian," he explained.

Double D, mouth agape, stared at Raz for a few second before giving the only response anyone could in such a situation: "The WHOLE Smithsonian?! How is that even possible?! And why would the Psychonauts even recruit someone like that?!"

"I think he's up in the cabin," Raz answered a completely different question. "Let's go. I'm sure he'll apologize."

"Cabin…?" Edd asked while Raz walked off cheerfully. Looking around, Edd realized for the first time where he was—an airplane. Specifically, some sort of carrier section (Edd had never done much research into aeronautics). The back wall was actually a large ramp that could open and close so a car could drive on.

Seeing that Raz had gone through a door on the opposite wall, Double D followed suit. He found himself on what greatly resembled a 1st-class cabin on a plane. In the very front row, watching an in-flight movie and enjoying some peanuts, was Wyatt. Raz was already talking to him.

Edd was about to give the kidnapper a piece of his mind when a voice suddenly sounded through the cabin:

_"This is your captain, Manny Sayonce. We're just a few hours away from our destination of the Psychonaut HQ in NY, NY. __**LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!**__"_

"Crap. He's losing control again, Raz." Wyatt grumbled in-between mouthfuls of nuts. Raz looked at Edd and waved him over. "Hey, Wyatt. This is a friend of mine who says you kidnapped him," Raz said with a childish grin on his face. "I think he wants an apology."

Wyatt scoffed, spitting some nuts out as he did so. "It wasn't my idea. Someone from HQ sent me a telepathic message instructing me to bring him. And, well, what better way to bring someone?"

"You've gotta stop kidnapping people!" Raz ordered half-jokingly. "Remember that trouble you got in with the Catholic Church when you kidnapped the Cyber-Pope? What about when you…"

_"Uh… guys? I'm not feeling too hot. I think this ghost was too much for me to—__**we will crush our enemies! We will fly into the very mouth of hell for the glory of our nation!**__"_

Edd looked around in terror, prompting a laugh from his kidnapper. "Don't worry. That's just Manny. He channeled the spirit of a pilot so he could fly the jet."

"That's a kamikaze pilot!" Double D protested adamantly. "Yeah, well, he needed someone who knew the basics of flying." Wyatt pointed out with a wave of the hand. "And, you gotta admit, those guys knew how to get where they needed to be."

Before Double D could protest anymore, Razputin, now sitting in the aisle next to Wyatt, smiled reassuringly. "Relax," he said simply. "Psychonauts have to channel dangerous people all of the time—and kamikaze pilots get us where we need to be safe almost 60% of the time!"

"What?!"

_"__**I see an enemy ship! We will hit the weak point for massive damage!**__"_

* * *

THE GUNMAN pushed some buttons on Cinco de Mayo's broadcasting equipment. A never-ending stream of songs would be played over the airwaves until someone came to take over Cinco de Mayo's job.

The killer smiled—something he did every hour of every day. That was partly why he was called 'Mr. Joy'. The other reason was his clothes—a t-shirt over a long-sleeved shirt seemed normal. So did dress-pants. However, the t-shirt and pants were absolutely covered with images of smiley faces and foreign words for happiness. A black neckerchief was tied tightly around his pale, scrawny neck.

The bright-yellow cell phone hanging from Mr. Joy's belt buzzed. In a movement faster than the eye could see, he unhooked the device and had it up to his ear. "Joy!" He greeted simply and with an even bigger, toothier smile.

_"Mr. Joy, you've reached your deadline. What's Drew Haav's status?"_

"Single, most-likely. He never got out much. He won't get a chance to, either—he's dead."

_"Well-done! I'll inform Jefferson to move on to the third target. Now, listen closely—I want you to go to Queens, New York; you'll receive further instructions upon arrival. Understood?"_

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Mr. Joy hastily answered as he hung up and put his phone back on his belt. He had already forgotten most of what… _whoever_ had just told him. Something about a bus and the_ Best of Queen_?

It didn't matter—instructions were for losers, and if Mr. Joy got out fast he could probably buy a coffee on his way to the bus depot.

* * *

THE PLANE LANDED outside a gleaming, white dome on the outskirts of New York. Edd wondered how a large plane could safely land outside a building without a runway. Edd was thinking too much.

A loud, worrisome hissing noise accompanied the door to the craft opening. Raz assured Double D that it was nothing to worry about before stepping outside. Wyatt told Double D not to touch the outside of the plane or his brain would melt. Taking what they said to heart, Edd stepped outside into the cool, morning air.

Turning to look at the plane he had just flown on, it was obviously no jet. Large chunks of glowing, purple metal (Psitanium, Edd remembered) were placed on the nose and wings of the plane, for some reason.

"Ah. Eddward. I'm sorry for dragging you away from your studies."

The German accent startled Double D. He hadn't seen anybody else when he stepped off of the plane—but, as psychics could turn invisible, that was hardly surprising. Double D turned around and saw just who he expected—Sasha Nein, the elite Psychonaut agent who had contacted him in his dream the previous night.

"Are you saying you're the one who told Wyatt to kidnap me?" Edd asked with a calmness that surprised even him. He descended down the plane's steps and faced Sasha Nein in front of the entrance to the building.

Sasha gave a wry smirk while Raz and Wyatt waited patiently behind him. "I'm afraid you're mistaken—you weren't kidnapped. You came here of your own free will. You signed papers to prove it."

Before Double D could argue, Sasha produced several papers from his back pocket. Edd had just enough time to spot an obviously forged signature before Agent Nein put them away.

"As for why you came here… who knows? Maybe you can help us out with a case," Sasha took Edd by the shoulder and walked towards the entrance to the glorious institution before them.

Seeing no other alternative, Double D walked into the massive building. And, as he passed through the double doors, he saw this—carved above the entrance, and in pristine condition:

_**Mens Sibi Conscia Recti**_

* * *

Author's Notes:_ Well, summer's here. More updates for all! Also, feel free to look up the Psychonauts' motto. For once, it's not a joke on you._

Next Time: Running the Asylum


	3. things r bad

**Running the Asylum**

_Author's Notes: I'm in despair! This wretched world in which PETA goes insane over a dead fly has left me in despair!_

_Oh, well— time to go attempt suicide again. And we all know how well it went last time. Why do you think I stopped HallowEd 2?_

* * *

WORKING THE FRONT desk for an organization as 'unique' as the Psychonauts required all of the determination that Margarita 'Marge' Hyoutan could muster. She had no psychic abilities, but was so incredibly jaded that very little surprised her. Hence, she was able to speak with the ghost of Abraham Lincoln (again) and make him an appointment for next week.

Along with the ghost of the Great Emancipator, there was a menagerie of people waiting to be called. There were Hector and Bruno, the Siamese twins—Hector currently being possessed by some psychic malevolence; there was Prof. Ursa, the Russian scientist who had placed his brain in a jar and attached it to a bear; and, strangest of all, was Simon the Sentient Moai, being exactly what his name indicated.

At least it wasn't Saturday. Things went _crazy_ on Saturday.

An electronic chime signaled the opening of the automatic doors, and in walked Sasha Nein, along with Wyatt Civil and the youngest Psychonaut, Razputin Aquatos. Walking beside Sasha Nein was a boy in an orange shirt and ski-cap, who seemed bewildered at the people in the waiting room. As if to calm his nerves, Sasha greeted everyone as best he could.

"Good day, Margarita. Bruno, your brother's looking bit worse for the ware. _Zdravstvujte_, professor; we really must talk some time. Mr. Lincoln—it's been too long. Oh… Simon. _You're_ here."

It obviously hadn't worked. In fact, Sasha's familiarity with so many odd characters had only strengthened the boy's confusion. Sasha seemed to sense this. He told Marge to tell Truman they were on their way down and they were off before she could say anything.

"Hey, Midge!"

A hand grabbed Marge before she could reach for the phone that ran directly to Truman's office. The voice was too familiar—with a smile, Marge looked up at Manny's childish grin.

"Manny, I'm supposed to be working." She laughed, no doubt putting the many waiting clients at a disadvantage. "Can't this wait until I get off?"

"Oh, come on," Manny pleaded, "I've been cooped up for hours with a suicidal Asian in my brain. Can't you take an early break or something?"

Professionalism was very important when working for the Psychonauts. Of course, in Marge's opinion, that only applied to the agents. Being a secretary, she could afford to take an early lunch. Smiling at Manny, she leaned close to him while they walked through the automatic doors.

And, as the secretary left mid-conversation, the Ghost of Abraham Lincoln watched her walk away and calmly muttered, "What a pisser."

* * *

MEANWHILE, on the 6th basement of the Psychonaut Headquarters, Double D marveled as Sasha, Raz, and Wyatt led him down a labyrinth of hallways. Cubist and Dadaist art hung on the walls and fluorescent light flickered down on the calming colors of the walls and carpet.

The calm was shattered however, when they passed by a door labeled '6-27'. A voice screamed at the top of its lungs at something and, unfortunately, what it was saying was very clear:

"GOD-DAMN COFFEE; THEY KEEP GIVING IT TO ME SO FRICKING HOT! I'LL _KILL THEM! I'LL KILL THEM ALL! DAMN COFFEE NAZIS!_"

"That's just Winston," Raz dismissed with a wave of the hand. "He's the Psychonauts' top Paranormal Expert. Ignore anything he says."

Much as Double D tried to take Raz's advice, he heard Winston's screams even as they exited the hall and turned into a new one.

"I'LL SHOW YOU HOT, YOU _FRICKING COFFEE!"_

Luckily, Double D was able to ignore the sound of the explosion that followed soon after.

This new hallway was painted differently than all the others—splotches of different shades of red and pink covered the wall and ceiling. The lights were noticeably dimmer. There was only one door in this hallway, office number 6-28.

"Just a little farther," Sasha assured. "You'll have to excuse all of the hallways—the architect was a maniac. He was a genius, but a maniac. The hallways are meant to represent the many crevices in the human brain." When Double D gave Sasha a questioning look, the agent merely shrugged. "As I said—he was insane."

A man came down the hallway and reached for the doorknob to room 6-28. He stopped, though, when Sasha coughed politely. The man turned, said something in Latin, and went back into the office.

That man was actually the Psychonauts' janitor and was, coincidentally, the physical manifestation of God on earth. Nobody ever saw him again.

Moving past that weirdness, the group entered the next hallway. The wall to the left, unlike the norm, was solid Plexiglass, with a similar door. Swedish furniture, a refrigerator, and a coffee machine were just a few of the creature comforts Double D could name.

Noticing where Edd's attention had gone, Raz decided to clue him in. "Each floor has a small lounge. They're mostly used when you want to order coffee. A runner goes into the lounge, makes your order, and brings it to you. I'm not allowed to drink coffee, though. They say it'll stunt my growth…"

The next paragraph started all of a sudden. However, it wasn't a particularly memorably paragraph. It was just the sixth paragraph of the third page. Most people would skip it, hoping to get to the more exciting bits up ahead. In fact, there's a part coming up where Double D nearly gets his head blasted off. The paragraph ended, not entirely unwillingly.

Continuing their long sojourn (Edd began to wonder just how big this floor was), the group passed by dozens of doors. Room 6-30 was occupied by the souls of two foul-mouthed rednecks. Room 6-31 was filled with pillows made from the Swedish memory foam. Room 6-39 went straight into the wall.

It was around Room 6-49 that Edd began to realize that they were still in the same hallway the lounge had been on. He had no time to ask Sasha about this, though, because the agent went into a panic attack when Door 6-50 began to open on its own. The group quickly fled before whatever was beyond the door could escape.

The hallway seemed endless. Corners were constantly appearing or vanishing in a blatant mockery of architecture. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached a door. No pomp or circumstance—merely a door at the end of a hallway. Opening the door revealed a large, circular office.

A blast shot out with no warning, as blasts tend to do. Double D barely managed to avoid having his head blown off; just like that meaningless paragraph said would happen. After a second of confusion, a head poked out from behind the desk at the back of the office.

"Oh… sorry," the man apologized, standing up with an air that suggested control and good aim. Double D, perhaps best of call, could clearly tell that the man had neither. "My daughter's been a little… testy lately. I thought you were her."

"That's no way to treat your daughter!" Double D was about to yell before Sasha cut him off. "I thought I told Ms. Hyoutan to send word up. Manny must have distracted her again."

"Yes, all my employees are idiots; I'm well aware," the man, Truman Zanotto, groaned. Looking at him now, Edd could see the man brought an amount of professionalism to the Psychonauts that he'd only seen in Sasha so far. Mr. Zanotto's hair was the same shade as his daughter's, although much neater. A patch of hair sprouted from his chin, just beneath his weirdly thin lips.

His clothes, a suit and a tie with Dadaist designs, created an almost presidential appearance. Indeed, the carped of his office was modeled after the Oval Office's—here, however, the image was of the Psychonauts' logo. Under the image of the stylized brain was the same Latin saying that hung over the HQ's double-doors.

"If you're done staring at me, kid, I've got some agents to debrief," Truman quipped, snapping Double D out of his daze.

Edd and the rest of his small group sat in chairs facing Truman Zanotto. Edd almost fell out when he realized there hadn't been any chairs in the room before. Truman took a seat at his desk and stared at the group for what seemed like hours. Double D couldn't tell, seeing as there wasn't a clock in the room.

"Well," Truman said finally, "I guess you dragged this kid here for a reason, Nein. If you're going to start hanging around with younger boys I think you should warn Raz."

Sasha forced a chuckle and smiled politely. "Well, Truman," he began, only to be cut off by Edd's intrepid curiosity.

"I'm sorry," he asked shyly, "but just who are you?"

A person can feel an awkward silence begin even mid-sentence. Even before he asked his question, Double D knew everyone in the room would wind up staring at him in an amazed stupor. They did. Embarrassed, Edd could tell they were laughing on the inside. Wyatt could barely suppress his smirk. It was Truman that finally broke the silence.

"I," he announced grandly, standing up from his office-chair, "am Truman Zanotto. I am the Grand Head of the Psychonauts. I am in charge of all Psychonaut affairs world-wide and I was _TIME Magazine_'s Person of the Year in 1943—before I was born, I'll remind you."

Edd was about to point out the impossibility of the last claim until Sasha nodded in confirmation. "But I always thought Sasha was in charge of the Psychonauts," Double D claimed.

Truman scoffed, looking from Sasha to Edd before collapsing back in his chair. "What lies have you been telling this boy, Sasha?" The Grand Head asked in mock-terror. He stared into Double D's eyes pleadingly. "Don't listen to him! He doesn't have any candy!"

"Truman, could we please get to the matter at hand?" Sasha's patience was beginning to ware thin, something rare to see in the usually calm agent. "Eddward possesses impressive psychic abilities and has proved his talent during the Peach Creek Incident."

Truman groaned as he spun around in his chair nonchalantly. "Yes, I know that. Despite popular belief, I actually read everyone's reports. You're lucky the kid's parents are out of town—I doubt they'd be happy with their son being dragged off to Psychonauts HQ."

With no noise or visual effects, a cup of pens materialized on Truman's desk. Casually, the Grand Head reached for one and playfully began to toss it in the air.

"Okay, mission time." He grunted when his pen became stuck in the ceiling. Reaching for another one, Truman began the simple amusement again.

"Recently, an important cultural landmark was… shall we say, uniquely vandalized." The Grand Head smirked wryly as he toyed with the pen. Nobody else seemed to get his joke.

"The Eifel Tower? It was shot into space; that's kind of hard to miss on the news." Truman, obviously disappointed, crossed his arms, the pen held delicately between his ring and index finger. "Anyways, this is just the sort of thing the Psychonauts get called in for.

"However, the agent we sent to investigate ran into a few… hiccups," Truman continued, kicking his feet up on his desk. "That is to say, he went missing and we found him three days later with severe psychic damage.

"Understandably, we sent a team into his brain to see if it could be salvaged." Truman chuckled at something. "According to Manny, the inside of that guy's head was completely f… screwed-up. All of his inner demons had been let loose. His daddy issues; his complexes; his nightmares. We hadn't seen a brain so bad since the Voorhees Asylum baseball game."

"That wasn't all," Raz explained calmly. Edd was surprised—from what he remembered, the young agent was constantly excited. "There was some sort of writing burned in to the guy's mental-landscape. Kinda like psychic graffiti. It was stuff like '6', or the occasional smiley-face."

"Exactly," Truman concurred with a nod. "See, Raz? Life didn't end when Lili broke up with y—" "YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO AROUND TELLING EVERYONE!" Raz screamed with all the anger a child could muster.

This, perhaps, was the most-shocking thing Edd had heard all day. When Raz had come to Peach Creek last year, he and Lili had seemed inseparable. What could have happened…?

"Jeez! Touchy!" Truman exclaimed, channeling a High School girl for a brief second. "Look, we have more important matters to focus on. All of this evidence points to the return of the Psychonauts' oldest enemy… **THE PSYCHO PSIX!**"

The bold design garnered mixed reactions from Truman's audience. Sasha's was his typical calmness, though if he were to take off his glasses one could see the fear lying just underneath. Wyatt's was general surprise as he sucked on a peppermint. Raz's was a raised eyebrow, while Edd's look was that of the confusion that he had come to expect throughout the day.

Truman spotted the confused look and groaned. "For the uninitiated, civilian, and downright stupid, the Psycho Psix was a group of 6 terrorists that formed around the same time as the Psychonauts. They started out harmless enough, but eventually more powerful members joined.

"The old Psycho Psix were mostly psychic terrorists. Their crimes included creating a painting that sucked people into another dimension; cutting the Washington Monument perfectly in half; and about half-a-dozen other unknown crimes.

"Like I said, they were anarchists. Their crimes were mostly to disrupt order and throw off people's sense of the norm." Truman began his conclusion tiredly. "A lot of their crimes could just be considered giant pranks. But they still hurt people, and that's why the Psychonauts had to come in."

Truman sighed heavily as his explanation began to draw to a close. "Recently, strange things have been happening and they fit the 6's M.O. to a T."

"You mean the murder of Diego Malheur?" Edd picked up quickly, prompting a mocking look from Mr. Zanotto. "That just seems like a random killing."

"Appearances can be deceiving." Truman said simply. "Look, right now I can't divulge certain facts to the general public. That includes you. You're just going to have to go with us on this." Sasha gave a small, reassuring smile—the most emotion he ever showed around his opposite, Truman.

"I brought you here because I took an interest in you during the incident last year," Sasha said pleasantly. "I went out on a limb and guessed that you would be useful on this mission."

"That's quite a limb to go out on!" Edd protested.

Truman groaned, frustrated. "Could you just man up and help us out? I don't even know you, but I'm kind of hoping you'll wind up brain-dead."

Edd gasped at the rude comment, but only let it shock him for a second. He pondered over the request—it was certainly sudden; maybe even nonsensical. After all, hadn't Double D only had a very brief experience with the Psychonauts?

Still, it certainly seemed like the Psychonauts were in desperate need for help. Double D quietly thought over both sides of the situation before coming to the conclusion that all wimps come to when faced with a difficult decision:

"I need more time." He requested hesitantly. Truman was silent for a few seconds, but shrugged in appeasement and sighed.

"Whatever. It's not like there are terrorists loose, or anything," he said, somehow mocking everyone in the universe with his indifferent expression. "You've got until tomorrow morning. If you don't make a decision by then, then I guess we'll have to do this without the help of a thirteen-year-old, prepubescent boy."

Snapping his fingers, the head of the Psychonauts dismissed his audience. "You're dismissed, boys. I'll see you tomorrow."

**

* * *

**

"OH dear; I didn't THINK that CATS actually ATE cheeseburgers. I suppose THAT'S just SOMETHING to ADD to THE list, I suppose."

JEFFERSON! That was Jefferson, and he was awesome. However, that thing he just said was bad—whenever he was in a good mood, somebody went crazy. But that's their fault. I have a blister on my wrist.

But Jefferson didn't have any blisters, because he was in his house and there are cats in his house where he was and he was in his house where he and his cats were in his house. The cats were like dogs, except they weren't.

Boo1 i scraed you

The cats all acted like there was lots of catnip nearby, but there wasn't. Jefferson had that affect on people, except people don't act funny when there's catnip nearby. He makes people act like they do when there's crazy nearby.

**"OH, dear; I'VE driven THE narrator INSANE again. DAMN."**

yes, i'm crazy; but that's bcause of the _**BEES**_. THE _**bees**_ ARE ALL OVER ME AND YOU'RE A _**bee**_ SO YOUR BAD AND I'M HURT A BEE.

things r bad

**"****i SUPPOSE somebody's READING this? IT'S not WORTH it. THE ending IS disappointing AND there ARE enough PLOT holes TO cover SWISS cheese. STILL, i CAN'T stop YOU from READING it. HOWEVER, if I may OFFER some ADVICE: do NOT read CHAPTER 9. now, I have SOME important BUSINESS to attend TO. good DAY."**

* * *

Author's Notes Are Good:_ My head hurts. The last few paragraphs are a blur—I hope I wrote some good stuff. Oh, well. Please review, everyone who's reading this. If you're confused, maybe I can help clear things up._

Next Time: The Chapter That Wasn't Planned


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